A Reacquaintance at Creation's End
by Aldrian Kyrrith
Summary: Romana and the Professor meet up at the end of the universe, and both have their own crosses to bare.


A Reaquantance at Creation's End

Aldrian Kyrrith

Title: A Reaquantance at Creation's End  
Fandom: Doctor Who  
Characters: Romana, Yana, the Master  
Rating: PG  
Word Count: 3000  
Summary: Romana and the Professor meet up at the end of the universe, and both have their own crosses to bare.

Every night he wakes up screaming, his face drenched with sweat, his sheets and covers disordered and thrown. His eyes open to the light of day and, for a moment, the end of the universe seems to be an almost pleasant thing. Then, just as quickly, reality comes rushing back: Futurekind, Utopia, and the utter hopelessness that has defined his mission to rescue humanity from the very beginning, and Yana recovers his senses. He has no idea what vague notions of horror might plague his sleeping mind, but he convinces himself that they are insignificant next to the real horrors that he faces in the real world. Still, deep in his subconscious mind, he wavers and, occasionally, he feels as if he can hear triumphant, victorious laughter accompanying those ever present drums.

*

"Ah, Professor, I don't see you come around these parts too often," the man behind the counter states in a boisterous but welcoming voice, beckoning the professor to sit down on an open stool. "Are you having problems bringing the Utopia project on line?"

Yana chuckles at the notion as he accepts the offer, "Trust me, if that was the case I would be in the lab, not in a place like this."

"Things are going well then?" the man asks, with hopeful optimism.

Yana frowns and takes a moment to collect his thoughts. Finally, he speaks. "I guess that wouldn't be the most accurate way to put it. Between you and me, Project Utopia has been a nightmare. Ten years, and every breakthrough seems to lead to more questions and another obstacle. Still, I believe I just had an epiphany of sorts, and that I might be able to complete the initial programming. That being said, there's still a lot of work to be done: I need to design the systems, the engines, the power mechanics, not to mention the actual specifications of the ship itself, but if all goes as well as I think it has, we might actually have a beginning."

The man behind the counter nods, but Yana cannot help but note a certain measure of guarded suspicion and mistrust. It is a sentiment that Yana is very much aware of. He is, after all, a man of science, and science is a field that had died out centuries ago.

"Well Professor," the other man says, pleasantly enough, sliding Yana a tall mug filled to the top, "I guess that's about as good a piece of news as we can expect to here. It's on the house."

"Thank you," Yana answers, as he accepts the glass and offers up a toast, "To Utopia."

The entire bar accepts.

*

The years go by and Yana continues his work. He makes a hundred breakthroughs, rewrites the laws of physics as he knows them and does the impossible. All the while, true solutions continue to evade him. It is in many ways a hopeless task but he plods on, and continues his work. Long ago, he had resigned himself to the simple fact that, as hopeless as his efforts might be, he has no choice but to continue onwards.

*

The last city of the human race is a place of rejects, with little in the way of wealth, class, opportunity or spirit. The people here are resigned to their fates, and they know that the end of the cosmos awaits and that either they or their children or their children's children will be alive to greet oblivion. It is not a pleasant fate but, then again, this is not a very pleasant place.

Perhaps this is why the young woman with the messy blond hair is so striking, as she scurries through the streets with reckless enthusiasm, a skip to her step that is utterly alien in these parts. No one recognizes her and no one can truly say from whence she came. She just appeared, out of nowhere, three days past, at the gates of the community, asking about an old friend whose name she could not remember.

Where she passes, people stare, and she does not mind. She is used to drawing attention, and if there is one thing, outside of her intelligence, that she takes pride in, it is her flashiness. She is a splash of mismatching colors and an amalgam of fashion styles, none of which the people at the end of the universe could even begin to recognize. Energetic, warm and confident, the young woman strides through the streets of humanity's last city and although she looks quite human, she is as alien to these people as a Slytheen would be. Or a Dalek.

*

Another failure. The professor quaffs the bitter tasting alcohol down, and nearly gags as it burns his throat. Five years ago, he thought he had found a breakthrough but it had been an illusory one, like all the others. Fifteen years he had worked on this quest and he was still no farther than when he had first started. Like Sisyphus pushing his boulder uphill, the task would always reset itself and he would always, inevitably, find himself back in the beginning, having to start things from scratch.

He sets the drink back on the table and watches the barman pour a second glassful. He is tired of this task; he is tired of everything. He had been so confident, so young, in the beginning but not anymore. Now he just feels stretched. Even that drumbeat sounds faded and, for some reason, this fact troubles him.

"Mind if I take a seat?" he hears a voice chime next to him, all too cheery for his liking.

"Not at all," he answers, not to be rude.

"Thank you," the other person responds and he turns to face the speaker. He is surprised to find himself looking at a young blonde woman wearing an assortment of different clothes that, to the best of his knowledge, only survived in the history texts. "You have an interesting sense of fashion," is all he can manage to say.

"You think so?" the woman replies. "Thank you. I always try to make an impression. Unfortunately, I've found it's not always a good one. Still, it does do well to be remembered, regardless of the circumstances."

Yana frowns, knowing all too well the truth in her words. He, who would die in anonymity, would give anything to have lived in an earlier, more prosperous time.

"Then again, I've always had friends who went for a quieter worldview. Not my cup of tea necessarily but they always seemed to find their way into trouble nevertheless, so they couldn't have done too bad for themselves. I'm Romana by the way. Romanadvoratrelundar."

The Professor stymies at the sound of her name. "Beg your pardon?"

She smiles cheekily at him, as if she has heard this before. Then she spells out her name phonetically, "ROM, AH, NAD, VOR, TRE, LUN, DAR. Romandvoratrelundar. But as I said before, you can call me Romana. Or Fred, if you would prefer. Either way, I suppose it's more practical than trying to pronounce a tongue twister, don't you agree?"

Yana stares at her with wide eyes, his thoughts for once distracted from his own troubles, as he finds himself considering the young woman's. He could not even begin to guess what was wrong with the young woman. Maybe she had been dropped on the head as a child? Maybe, like him, she had surrendered to the hopelessness of their current predicament, but while he had retreated into self pity, she had escaped into a kind of mania. Either way, he had to guess that, whatever caused her all too cheery, and absolutely unrealistic, personality, it had to have been something serious, likely even more debilitating, in its own way, than the difficulties he had been facing every day.

"Well Romana," he finally speaks, recovering from a form of temporary shock. "My name is Yana. Professor Yana. How do you do?"

"A Professor?" she asks enthusiastically. "And here I was afraid you were playing dictator."

Yana stares at her quizzically, confused. "Excuse me?"

"Sorry," she replies, with an apologetic smile. "Random train of thought. Anyway, it's nice to meet you professor. I've always been rather interested in the sciences myself, so it's nice to find a kindred spirit, if you know what I mean."

"You're a scientist?" the Professor asks, and he couldn't help but perk up at the revelation. Indeed, if she was even half as intelligent as she was eccentric, she would make for a more than worthy colleague. Perhaps she would even be able to provide some real assistance. He checks himself before his fantasies became too elaborate. Then again, he reminds himself, she could also be completely mad. Either way, he suspects that she is a person worth getting to know.

"Oh yes, among other things. Unfortunately, things have not been going quite well for me quite recently and I figured I needed a break from things, if only for a few moments. A vacation if you will. That's why I came here: to try to track down an old friend."

The professor laughs at the irony. "A vacation? Here? Then again, I guess there's nowhere you can really go, to escape from a collapsing universe."

Romana shrugs, "It's not that bad, actually."

He stares at her, incredulously, and she looks back and her eyes pierce right through him. The amiability disappears from her face and she suddenly becomes quite serious and, as they lock eyes, he knows, with absolute certainty, that she is not mad and that she is certainly not harmless. And he cannot help but feel as if she is ancient, and that she has seen things he cannot even begin to comprehend. All the while, she is speaking to him, and he cannot stop himself from listening. "Don't look at me like that, Yana. In all honesty, you don't really have it that bad here. I remember when I first arrived here, at the end of the universe, and looked up at that empty sky. It was beautiful, in its own depressing way. To see the end of space and time, to watch everything that ever was pass on into the cosmic history. It is quite awe inspiring when you really think about it, and almost comforting, after everything I've seen."

He responds, deep down, he suspects she might be correct. Still, the words are irrational, and so is he for believing them. "Really? You are quite insane, if you find death and destruction beautiful."

She looks at him, though her mind is distant. "You call this destruction? This is the inevitable, the winding down of a clock that is past its time. I have seen true destruction, Professor Yana. I have watched all of space and time balance themselves on the edge of a knife, and entire galaxies vanish into oblivion, still rich with life. It is enough to send one running to a place like this. For those who have lived through such things as we have, the natural endpoint of the universe might well be a sanctuary."

Yana wants to retract what she said, to rage at her, and to tear her observations to shreds. He notices, that their conversation has drawn the attention of the rest of the bar, and her words have not been taken too kindly. The barkeep is shaking his head, and, while his expression is serene, almost forgiving, the others in the bar, outraged, look ready to tear this young woman limb from limb. He wants to be one of them. He wants to rebuke her, to tell her that she is wrong and has no idea what she speaks of, that she is simply insane and belongs with the Futurekind, but deep down he knows otherwise. He can see it when he looks into her eyes, and observes what he sees in them. She has seen setbacks, she has seen frustration, and she has seen horrors. He knows this with a form of absolute certainty, and as he thinks about her words, he cannot help but feel, as if somewhere deep in the back of his mind, inaccessible, that he knows the horrors that she speaks about. And suddenly he recognizes her, though he does not know from where, and deep inside his unconscious mind something long silent begins to stir. He feels a strange mix of exhilaration, anxiety and terror but he cannot identify its source. The drumbeats are blasting now, as they have not done since he was very young.

"Perhaps," he answers, and he feels a determined resolve take root in his mind for the first time in years. "But I will not let it be the end. There are still things I mean to accomplish."

She smiles, "Admirable sentiments Yana, and I agree. It would be a waste to sit here in peace, and accept the inevitable. For the first time, you're sounding like the person you used to be."

She rises to leave the bar and he looks at her, speechlessly. "It was nice to meet you Professor Yana. But then I suppose you have your own battles to fight, just as I have mine. It would be impolite to ask for any more of your time."

He watches her go and he cannot help but suspect that, somehow, she seems familiar, even though he cannot remember her face. "Do I know you?" is all he asks as she leaves.

She turns back towards him and answers, in an exhausted, almost regretful tone of voice, "In another lifetime, I suppose, when the skies were not this peaceful."

*

Romana passes through the teeming crowd and stops to face a mirror. A Chamelion Device can be a wonderful thing, she muses, as she steps through the glass, the key around her neck glowing slightly, and into her TARDIS's Control Room. She stops to lock the door behind her before she inputs a new destination for her vessel. Gallifrey.

She takes a moment to remember the Professor. He was an interesting man and at times, when she had spoken with him, she could have sworn that, for brief moments, she could see traces of his previous persona flash. The Master. She had gotten to know him well during the war. She smiled as a pleasant memory flashes across her memory. They had been quite the pair on Gallifrey; if only the Doctor could have seen. She quickly turns her mind from that memory, and the temptations that coincide. With the way the war had recently been going, she does not have the luxury to spend her life in memory. Even this brief sojourn might well have proven costly. Nevertheless, closure is a valuable thing and there are some transgressions that even presidents must allow themselves to make. Now that her journey is ended, however, she knows that she can no longer, in good conscience delay things and so she puts back on the mask of a leader and assumes the mantle of President once more.

She activates the Tardis and leaves the end of the universe behind her, and the shell of a Time Lord with it. In a way, this had only been another distraction, this reunion at the end of time. A way to, if only for a brief moment, escape from the cold spectre of the Time War. That was fair enough, however. A brief diversion was all their relationship had ever been.

She knows the others would question her decision when she gets back. It does not do for a leader to abandon her people in the middle of war, even if only for the span of a nanosecond. Not that it mattered; even if she could perfectly pilot her TARDIS and land in the exact same point of time that she had departed, the others would know the truth immediately. They were Time Lords after all.

Still, she was the Lady President, and she would have no need to answer their inquiry. Neither did she have any desire to. After all, only she knew what had truly become of the Master and she had no intention of sharing that information. She had helped him flee into oblivion, all those years ago, and she had no intention of undoing that effort.

With a humming sound, the Tardis returns and she steps out into the Conference Room on Gallifrey.

"Lady President," a voice sounds beside her, clearly displeased. "Where have you been?"

"Vacation," she answers pleasantly and there is no reply, no need for explanation. Even among her own people, she is an eccentric, and her people are far too intelligent to be surprised at her behavior.

*

The years pass and Yana continues his work. After all this time, however, he still remembers the strange young woman, Romana, who had come to the community out of nowhere, and disappeared just as easily. He is not the only one who carries on her memory, as there are still stories about her, some believable and some absolutely outlandish. He knows one individual who swears that he had seen her once walk through a mirror, but people laugh at his story. Yana is not one of them. There are far too many mysteries, too many impossibilities, to discount anything wherever she had been concerned.

He does not work alone now, however. Three years ago, he had come across a young alien woman, Chantho, a rather gifted scientist in her own right. She is a worthy assistant, intelligent, and fully capable. Together, they had managed to make some serious progress in the Utopia Project.

He is not the same person he once was, easily defeated by the specter of impossibility. His meeting with Romana had awakened something in him: an ambition and an enthusiasm that he had not known since he was very young. The work is still as difficult as ever, but now he embraces the challenge, and tries to conquer it. He looks back at her words to him, and the horror that was reflected in her eyes, and he can only hope that their conversation had helped her as much as it had him.

Still, Yana has work to do, and he will not linger in memories, not even the important ones. Those days were gone, long gone, and he can only speculate as to Romana's current tribulations. And he is not particularly inclined towards idle speculation. Not anymore at least.

"Chan, these equations don't balance out, Tho."

He chuckles at his assistant's words and steps forward to lend his assistance. Indeed the work is as maddeningly impossible as ever but he is not the same man he used to be, all those years before.

"Let me see if I can get it to work," he answers, taking the specifications and working out the calculations in his mind. He is no longer frustrated by the Herculean task that faces him. In fact, recently he has even begun to enjoy the challenge.

It is a difficult, nearly impossible project, but the Professor will not be mastered by the laws of physics, and the hopelessness of his task. He presses on and he will succeed. Without a word, and to Chantho's speechless astonishment, he completes his calculations and makes a few alterations to the formula in front of him.

Professor Yana has no intention to let his life's work end in vain.

And, deep in his subconscious, the drumbeat marches on.

Finis


End file.
